Page 6 of Hard to Take

Can’t remember the last time we were here. It was definitely before we started our new season, and Atlas got hurt, and Brooke asked me to pretend to be her fake boyfriend, and I got the call in the middle of the night about my grams.

It feels like forever ago.

“If I were an animal, I’d be a goat,” Rookie calls over the music.

“You’re saying that because want to be the G.O.A.T., which you’ve got to earn,” Damon shouts back.

“You planning to steal that title while Clay’s asleep? Because if he’s awake, you’re going to have to fight him for it,” Jay points out.

“Anytime, anywhere. But as a backup, I’d be an ostrich. Fast as fuck and scary too.” The guys laugh and Rookie turns to me. “What about you?”

There are plenty of fans here to stroke my ego. Before I can respond, one of them grabs my arm, smiling up at me.

“You’re Miles Garrett! I started watching basketball because of you,” a brunette calls over the music.

“Oh yeah? Tell me what you learned.”

I’m a personable guy, and being nice to fans is a knee-jerk reaction.

“Basketball players are really big. Pretty much all over six feet.” She announces it as if she’s discovered a new wonder of the world. “They’re probably big everywhere.”

My gaze is scanning the club, but the innuendo hits me over the head.

“Stands to reason.”

None of this interaction takes a single ounce of my attention when Brooke walks in the door with Sierra and Nova.

Her hair is down in wild curls around her head. Her lips are dark against her golden skin, her eyes lined. Her black dress is sparkly, dipping low between her perfect breasts and ending high on her toned thighs.

Thank fuck for whatever designer made heels that tall. Makes it easier for a big guy like me to see and appreciate every inch of her.

It’s been a week since I’ve seen her. The social posts I shamelessly watched for clues to her state of mind and simply to look at her don’t count.

She’s alive and grinning and gorgeous.

Suddenly, I’m picturing her on her knees, her fingers wrapped around me. The heat of her mouth, the sounds she’d make as if she knew exactly what she was doing, taking me apart one wet stroke at a?—

Shit. This went south fast.

Her eyes find me and there’s not enough air in my lungs.

She could do any number of things. Roll her eyes, shake her pretty head. Slice through the crowd on her high heels and press up to yell in my ear what an asshole I am.

I want her to.

Instead, she turns away.

In the dark I can admit I’m butthurt.

Yeah, I bailed early on our weekend, but I had my reasons. She hasn’t given me time to explain. I thought she knew me better than that.

I’m tempted to drag her into a hallway where she can only hear me, that’s impossible with the entire team around us.

A rough purring noise interrupts my thoughts. After a beat, I realize it’s coming from the woman I converted to basketball.

“Are you okay?” I ask, concerned. Maybe she’s having some kind of allergic reaction.

“I’m growling. Like a bear’s mating call.” She blinks thick eyelashes at me.

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